


i'm afraid to tell you who i adore

by Quintessentia



Series: Hitman!AU [5]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, mark finally gets laid, sappy soulmate bullshit and mark's self esteem problems, there is a plot but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6823603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessentia/pseuds/Quintessentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack gets handsy when he's drunk, Felix and Marzia ruin an entire operation, and Mark somehow still gets laid. (Hitman/Soulmate!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm afraid to tell you who i adore

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to upload, but I was working on the Antisepticeye/Darkiplier fic with Galaxy_Ghost (Titled 'Blessed with a Curse'--go check it out!) and this universe was trying to send me down seventeen different paths.  
> This takes place less than two months after Mark and Jack have met, and I managed to add in new characters and a sprinkling of plot before the porn kicked in. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Title from Ode to Sleep by Twenty One Pilots

This woman is onto him.

Mark furrows his eyebrows, nodding along politely to his companion’s bewildering conversation. She’s changed her story five times so far, and nothing she’s said about her soulmate’s whereabouts in the past twenty minutes has made a damn lick of sense.

He’s been in this bar for almost two goddamn hours, having long since lost Jack to the throng of Friday club hoppers in at least half that time, and the wife of his intended target has probably had him made since they’d first arrived. Fuck.

His beer is warm and flat to the taste, the victim of nearly an hour of grasping at straws to meet and discreetly question the woman in front of him. She should be halfway to dizzy eyed and stupid, her glass of bright blue _whatever_ nearly gone after so little time in conversation, but Mark’s starting to suspect that it’s all a ruse.

The woman, known as Marzia Bisognin-Kjellberg to her betters, and Cutie Pie to herself and her husband’s clients, has been on his radar for over a year now. She, along with her husband Felix, are wanted in several countries for art theft and forgery a thousand times over, known from coast to coast for scamming dealers and charging a pretty penny for stolen pieces of all kinds.

Mark’s been lowkey tracking them for months, but it wasn’t until he was approached by an old contact with valuable information on their whereabouts that he’d snatched up the opportunity to off them both with greedy hands.

Ken hadn’t been confident in his own skills when it came to confronting either Felix or Marzia about their shady dealings, but he was more than happy to turn over the discoveries he’d made to someone he’d trusted to get the job done—Mark.

The woman perched daintily on the stool in front of him has murdered or ordered the murder of nearly as many people as Mark has gunned down in his entire career, and those numbers alone are staggering even to him. He’s not the first freelance killer to come after either of them, and while he’d been surprised that she hadn’t appeared to recognize him on sight, he’s almost positive now that she’s playing him for a fool.

“My husband is such a wanderer,” she complains, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against her glass. They’re sea foam green and they match her earrings. “He’s always getting distracted by shiny things—I just can’t keep him in one place for too long. I swear it’s like the universe just picked us out of a grab bag completely blind and hoped for the best.”

“So you don’t know where he is?” Maybe being straightforward isn’t Mark’s best plan of attack at this particular moment, but this woman is going in circles and the act is so convincing it _has_ to be fake. He’s trying to sell himself as a wealthy buyer interested in reportedly ‘haunted’ sculpture pieces, but Marzia is making it difficult to even care about what he came here wanting in the first place.

He _hates_ being played at his own game, and it seems like the score isn’t in his favor this time around.

“Did I say that?” Marzia’s eyes are big and bright, too bright. She’s pure evil, all wrapped up in pastels and soft brown curls, exuding an off-color aura of innocence as she stares at him across the rim of her glass. “I didn’t mean it that way at all. He’s probably off discussing a business deal with one of his little friends. They’re always following us around when we take these trips. Annoying, really.”

Mark has no fucking idea what she’s playing at, and his head hurts. He misses Jack.

Everyone who’s heard of either Felix or Marzia knows they’re soulmates _and_ business partners. No one with half a working brain would take Marzia as just a dithering piece of arm candy if they’d made it far enough to score a conversation with her, much less inquire about a business deal. If she knows who he is, she’s not gaining anything by playing stupid.

“I assume there’s no way to get in contact with him otherwise?” he asks, straining to keep his perfectly neutral expression of disappointment in place. He must be using muscles he hasn’t used in a decade. “It’s a shame—I was willing to put forth a good deal of negotiations in order to see your collection.”

Marzia smiles patiently, like she can see exactly how much he’s suffering behind his V-neck and personal fog of CK Eternity. He can’t tell if she’s preoccupied or just plain bored with him.

“I can always arrange for him to meet you at a later date,” she says primly, neatly dabbing at the lipstick stain on her glass. “Felix is a very busy man, but he’s quite flexible when he needs to be.”

The bartender appears out of nowhere, replacing her nearly empty drink with a second without even sparing Mark a glance, and the exchange triggers a warning signal in the back of his mind. There’s an itch somewhere between his shoulder blades and a buzzing along his spine that mean something isn’t right.

The first is usually a sign that he’s in way over his head, and the way that Marzia seems so at ease in this strange, no-name bar without a single friend or accomplice in sight only confirms his suspicions.

The second is attuned directly to Jack’s presence, or lack thereof, and whenever the buzzing starts it means that Jack is looking for him.

Mark’s shoulders tense slightly as Marzia raises an eyebrow at him expectantly, taking a sip of her new drink as she waits for his response. The buzzing along his spinal cord is getting stronger, gathering at the base of his neck, and the notorious itch descends to his stomach, exploding into a hot mess of nerves.

They need to leave. Now.

He pretends to think, biting his lip as he scans the room for any signs of his—probably overwhelmed—soulmate hiding out in a booth somewhere, nursing a single drink or avoiding eye contact with the general public. Jack hates crowds.

He can’t see a damn thing, and he’s about to beg off of Marzia’s offer and tell her he’ll be in touch some other time, but his worries are interrupted by everything going completely to shit.

“Darling!” Marzia exclaims at a presence lingering suddenly just beside Mark’s own stool, and he whips around a little too quickly, probably giving himself away even further than he already has.

There’s a man there, young and blonde and unassumingly attractive, but his expression reeks of something more deeply professional and dangerous. Mark recognizes him immediately.

“Hello Marzia,” Felix says, smiling at her like it’s been years since they’ve laid eyes on each other. Mark is suddenly aware of how well and truly fucked he is. “I’ve been looking for you all night. Have either of you met my friend Jack?”

_Oh god. No._

Mark’s up and off of his stool in a nanosecond flat, beer forgotten on the bartop and back to the wood of the counter. Sure enough, Jack’s there, barely a foot from where Mark was just sitting and smiling up at him with a doped-out look on his face. Mark’s hands quiver.

“Found ya!” Jack grins, sounding uncharacteristically giddy for having just spent nearly two hours surrounded by drunk, handsy assholes. He taps the side of his head with one finger, eyes flashing triumphantly. “I always know where y’are—my head can tell no matter what.”

He’s practically vibrating in place, some sort of dark drink clasped in his right hand, and Felix’s palm is resting on his shoulder in what might look like a friendly gesture to the average passerby, but not to Mark.

His gaze homes in on where Felix is touching Jack so casually, and then on Felix himself, who’s watching Mark with heavy eyes.  Dread skitters up Mark’s spine this time, a million poisonous thoughts burrowing beneath his skin and creating goosebumps where they land.

“Where’ve you been, Jack?” he swallows hard, leveling his voice in time to make the question sound sufficiently laid-back. He’s not fooling Felix or Marzia about his identity, but cracking under pressure has never been Mark’s particular calling card.

“Drinkin’.” Jack slurs a little, and his mouth droops a little at the corners. “Thought ya were right next t’me and then ye weren’t. So I bought myself a drink and had a grand old time with Felix here. He’s such a cool guy, Mark! You two should really talk sometime.”

Marzia purses her lips in something like a wry bastardization of a smile, and Mark wants to fucking clock her, right across her perfectly glossed mouth. He and Jack hadn’t even come in together, barely even hung around each other after the first few minutes, because Mark had a cover to maintain and Jack knew next to nothing about either of his targets.

There’s no way either Felix or Marzia should have suspected that they were involved with one another, but the way Felix is staring him down tells Mark that they know exactly that and probably more. He’s gripping Jack’s shoulder like he’s holding him hostage without Jack even realizing, and it’s making some shitty, possessive part of Mark’s brain go completely haywire.

His teeth must be grinding to dust at an alarming rate as he nods up at Felix, trying for cordial and unperturbed and probably failing miserably.

“I see you went and found my partner for me,” he says stiffly, reaching to put an arm around Jack’s waist to steady him. Felix nods back, relinquishing his hold on Jack much to Mark’s unabashed relief, gaze fixed intently on how Jack immediately snuggles comfortably into Mark’s chest.

“He looked lonely.” Felix answers, as though he was a charitable man. His voice is smooth and bland, harmless to the ears, but his smile is sharp enough to cut through glass. “You should keep a better eye on him—this doesn’t seem like his scene at all.”

If Jack were sober enough to make sense of any of this conversation, he’d be bristling in indignation at the insinuation that he can’t handle himself in public, no matter how much the accusation edges upon the truth. Mark pulls him a little closer.

“Maybe if I had, I’d have found you sooner,” he replies, darkly earnest. Two can play at this game—his character may suffer in the eyes of both of his targets, but Mark doesn’t do anything by halves. “I’ve got a proposal I’d like to discuss with you.”

Felix regards him coolly, moving to stand at Marzia’s side like they’re two pieces of art on display, stone cold sculptures limited in pose and expression. It’s unsettling how well they fit together, despite Marzia’s earlier words about them being polar opposites. Mark feels like a deserted island.

“If it’s business you’d like to discuss, then I’m available for consultation Mondays and Wednesdays from noon to three. Marzia is available every other weekday at the same times.” Felix talks like he’s reading off of a pamphlet, calm and collected and slightly bored in tone. He’s a living, breathing dead end, at least for tonight.

Marzia sets her drink down and reaches into her purse, pulling out what can only be a business card scripted in dark blue font. Both of their names are embossed on the thick paper, and a phone number jumps out at Mark from beneath the heavy lettering.

“Consider that an invitation to call us,” she says, leaning back so precariously on her stool Mark’s almost excited to see if she’ll fall. “Both Felix and I would be delighted to talk with you and your—” She glances at Jack, who’s watching the whole exchange with half lidded, confused eyes. The unprofessional side of Mark just wants to take him home.

“Soulmate,” she finishes, because there’s no sense in denying what’s right in front of their eyes. Marzia stands, taking one last sip of her drink and shouldering her bag. “If you’ll forgive us, it’s getting late and we’ve got a busy day tomorrow. We’ll be looking forward to hearing from you.”

Mark nods again, feeling like he’s just been sidelined by the world’s most patronizingly dangerous secretary, and watches as Felix and Marzia exit the bar in perfect sync. The whole thing leaves an incredibly rotten taste in his mouth.

He feels the warm pressure of lips against his collarbone and glances back down at Jack, squeezing his arm comfortingly. Jack’s expression is warm and lazy on his face, and he’s looking at Mark like he’s never seen something so wonderful.

“I don’t think Felix believed y’were mine at first,” he mumbles, and his eyes are so honest and sweet Mark can’t help but soften. Fuck the mission and fuck all of these pretentious people, with their dirty money and dirtier hands. He’s done with them all for tonight and maybe for tomorrow too.

“I am yours,” he says, hitching Jack as close as possible and kissing his hair. It’s time to go home. “All of me is yours, Jack—stop worrying yourself.”

Jack hums and buries his face back into Mark’s neck, so incredibly trusting that Mark can’t stand to be here any longer.

“Let’s go back,” he murmurs, steering them both towards the exit opposite of where Felix and Marzia had gone. “I’m taking you to bed.”

Jack giggles and tries to grope Mark’s ass once, missing almost entirely and catching the sharp jut of his hipbone instead.

“I’ve been waiting for you to take me to bed forever,” he says, drawing out the final syllable like it’s stuck on his tongue and he’s trying to dislodge it. “Can we be naked?”

Mark’s answering sigh is bone deep and weary.

-.-

Jack’s all hands and warm breaths on the way back, squirming around relentlessly in the back of the taxicab and jostling Mark’s better judgment until it’s nearly unrecognizable.

Years of rigorous training have long since drained him of any desire to bother with distractions like attractive bedmates, recreational drugs, or TV marathons while he’s working, but nothing had ever prepared him for Jack.

Having a soulmate who’s trying desperately to feel you up in the back of a public transit vehicle transcends every challenge he’s ever been faced with, appealing or not. It’s not that Jack is especially practiced in being surreptitiously seductive, but more that his own personal brand of existence is apparently tailored to weaken Mark and only Mark.

“Didya get the info ye needed?” Jack asks, clinging to Mark’s arm so tightly there’s serious potential for a dislocated shoulder. “Y’looked like you were having a serious conversation with that lady.”

Mark looks at him, still holding Jack’s body in place next to his own on the seat, because as much as he loves having Jack in his lap, the cab is not the space for that sort of thing.

“I got enough,” he says honestly, smoothing Jack’s hair back. It’s getting a bit longer in the front now. “We can worry about the rest tomorrow.”

“We?” Jack blinks hopefully up at him, hands stilling on their trek towards sliding up the back of Mark’s shirt. “Are ye gonna let me help out with this one?”

Mark’s already mulled it over in his brain prior to even visiting the bar. As much as he’d like to prevent Jack from getting involved with either Felix or Marzia and their entire operation, he needs Jack’s computer expertise, not to mention his moral support. Frowning slightly, he’s reminded that both con artists not only know what Jack looks like, but are one hundred percent keen on his relationship to Mark.

“Yeah,” he admits finally, blowing out an exasperated breath and sinking back into the shabby leather of the car seat. “I’m gonna need you for this one, babe. Better sharpen those hacking abilities for me.”

Jack makes a noise of excitement that only makes Mark feel ill.

“Fuck yes,” Jack cheers under his breath, then kisses Mark sloppily on the mouth before he has time to react. “I’m not gonna let you down, Mark. I promise. Whatever you need, I can do it. Anything at all.”

Mark’s laugh is sallow and weak. The thought is incredibly patronizing, but Jack’s enthusiasm is _so_ naïve. Maybe it’s the alcohol currently hijacking his brain, but the younger man has absolutely no idea how dangerous Mark’s job really is.

He turns to look out the window, away from where Jack is back to nuzzling him happily, like an overly affectionate dog seeking endless attention. Mark hates himself for the belittling light his mind is starting to paint Jack in, but the rampant cynicism that’s hardwired into his head is making it difficult to view Jack’s excitement any other way.

Jack’s hand clumsily reaches for his, and Mark’s guilt deepens exponentially. Drunken antics and baseless fervor for danger aside, Mark doesn’t deserve him, not at all. Jack is too good for him, and Mark’s dragging him down a dark path, one riddled with bullets and lies and people like Mark who are worse than all the hazards of the job combined.

“Don’t get too excited,” he says instead of voicing his thoughts. There’s no room for his personal brand of negativity and self loathing tonight. “Unless you’re doing field work, this sort of thing is more boring than exhilarating.”

Jack shakes his head and snorts rudely, reminding Mark that he’s still very much drunk and uninhibited at the moment.

“Who cares?” he mutters flippantly into Mark’s chest, voice slightly muffled by the fabric. “As long as I’m working with you I don’t give a damn how boring it is.”

Mark just shakes his head and lets Jack continue trying to wriggle his way beneath Mark’s skin, like being drunk makes him too sensitive to air and light to function. He wishes that keeping Jack safe was always as easy as dulling sensory input and holding him close, arms like a cocoon.

Jack breathes easy next to Mark the whole way back, and Mark tries his best to keep him calm, soothing him into submission with a gentleness he doesn’t feel in his bones.

-.-

They stumble into the hotel room at an ungodly hour of the night, and Mark is so tired it feels like his limbs are shutting down one by one, failing him.

Jack, on the other hand, is back to pressing clumsy, frisky fingers in places he shouldn’t and looking at Mark with hungry eyes. He won’t let go of Mark’s waist, and when Mark tries to wrestle him into bed, he adamantly refuses.

“I don’t wanna sleep,” he complains, half-heartedly accepting the glass of water Mark hands him with accusing eyes. He’s definitely in the ‘petulant toddler’ stage of drunkenness, despite the way his eyes light up when Mark takes off his shirt and collapses onto the edge of the bed. Mark prays the next stage of Jack’s alcohol muddled mood is total exhaustion.

“I wanna sit on yer lap,” Jack slurs, making grabby hands at Mark’s hunched form. Then he snorts, laughing at a joke that exists only in his brain. “I mean, in reality I kinda wanna sit on yer dick, but I don’t think you’d let me.”

Mark swallows hard. He’d been expecting something along the lines of Jack being more touchy feely than usual—which actually wasn’t saying all that much—but they’d barely talked about the sexual stuff at all. Mark hadn’t wanted to push, and Jack hadn’t seemed to be asking for more.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he replies, allowing Jack to come closer and perch ungracefully on his lap. "It’s not a good idea, Jack.”

“Why not?” Jack looks puzzled, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “You’re my—I mean you’re Mar—you’re my Mark. I think about it all the time.”

“I thought you wanted to wait,” Mark keeps his voice low, running his hands up the planes of Jack’s back with long, slow strokes. He needs to be delicate.

Jack shakes his head, pouting like a little boy and leaning forward to rub their noses together a little sloppily.

“Don’ wanna wait anymore,” he continues, still sounding petulant. “Been waitin’ for too long now. Too long. No more. I love you.”

He giggles drunkenly, like a child. Mark can’t feel his toes or his tongue or most of his brain. It’s all offline.

“Didya hear that?” Jack crows, blue eyes crinkled with laughter. “I love you! Jack loves you!” He tries and fails to land a wet kiss on Mark’s mouth, but doesn’t seem fazed at his own clumsiness.

“Did I break ya?” he inquires, mouthing more than kissing at Mark’s jawline. “Yer doin’ that spacey thing ya do when yer freakin’ out about something.”

Mark’s struggling to remain tethered to reality, but Jack’s making it hard with his drunk-happy declarations and his soft, wet mouth. With a colossal surge of effort, Mark nudges a little bit of distance between them so he can get his hands on Jack properly and look him in the eyes.

“Baby,” he begins, because he knows what he has to do and it’s not an answer Jack’s going to like. “You’re too drunk for this right now. You’re falling all over yourself and you can barely form a sentence—I’m not gonna take advantage of you like this, okay?”

Jack frowns deeply, his hands slipping on Mark’s shoulders as he tries his best to hold on tight.

“But I asked for it...you can’t hurt me, Mark. I won’t be mad in the mornin’, promise. I just want you so bad…” Jack grinds his hips downwards into Mark’s, as if to punctuate how seriously he means it.

Mark stutters, his own body betraying him by trying to grind back, and he wants so badly to be able to reciprocate. Jack is so warm and pliant beneath his hands, and he knows that all he would have to do is say yes, and neither of them would have to wait any longer.

“No,” he says, even as he buries his face in Jack’s neck to kiss the skin there, allowing himself one moment of indulgence. “No, baby. We can’t. Not tonight.”

“But—but I wanna do it now,” Jack whines a little, even though his voice is slowing down in a way that means he’s probably on the verge of passing out. “Why d’we gotta wait ‘til I’m sober?”

Mark kisses his face, mouth brushing along the sparse stubble along his jaw, and then moves to kiss him properly. Jack kisses back lazily, like his thoughts are muggier now than they were a moment ago, and Mark pulls away again.

“Because I love you too,” he says, making sure Jack can see his face clearly. “I want us both to remember it, not just me. I won’t do that to you.”

Jack ducks forward again, pressing his cheek against Mark’s collarbone, mumbling half-coherently.

“S’not fair,” he huffs, and Mark takes advantage of his drowsy state to lift them both off the bed and set Jack back down on it, tugging Jack’s pants off and pulling the covers away so he can get the other man bundled up. Jack’s going to get cold at night—he always does.

Mark’s tucking the sheets around Jack’s upper body, being as gentle as possible until he realizes that Jack’s suddenly got his hand in a vice grip.

“Yer not mad at me, right?” Jack asks, sounding incredibly young, even with his own alcohol-impaired brain still sloshing the words together. The tension in Mark’s chest loosens a little, only to be replaced by something that aches.

“Never,” he replies, adjusting their grip so he can hold Jack’s hand properly. “I’m not going anywhere, I swear. I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.”

“Right next to me?” Jack, true to form, is hungry for reassurance even while drunk and sloppy. Mark kisses his forehead.

“If you’ll allow me to get out of my jeans, then yeah—there’s nowhere else I would be.”

He doesn’t care how sappy that sounds, because it’s almost 2 AM and they’re both a mess, but Jack is in love with him and Mark needs time to sleep on that. He’s not entirely sure he’s not dreaming, but if he is, then dream-him has some really fantastic morals.

Jack snuffles a little as though he’s almost asleep, and lets go of Mark long enough for the older man to make quick work of everything else but his underwear and flip off the bedside lamp.

He climbs into bed, sliding under the covers next to Jack, and pulling him close so they’re skin to skin. Jack sighs when his head comes into contact with Mark’s bare chest, already sliding downwards into unconsciousness.

Sleep comes sooner than usual for Mark, much to his surprise, and he can’t help but wonder what other changes are on the horizon.

-.-

The clock reads 8:15 AM the next time he opens his eyes, and he blinks in confusion.

Jack isn’t next to him, but the shower is running beyond the far wall to his right, and his mouth feels like it’s been layered in sour cotton.

It’s the latest he’s been asleep in awhile, his body protesting the idea of sleeping in past six o’ clock on the dot as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and groans. The coffee pot is calling to him, and so is the idea of breakfast before he can manage any sort of coherent thought. He’d barely had more than a few drinks last night, but his brain is struggling to come online and his joints are frustratingly stiff.

Mark peels himself out of the bed, shuffling towards the promising beacon of coffee in the corner, wondering if he should go check on Jack. There’s a distant thrum behind his left eye that’s reminiscent of a headache that’s not his, meaning that his soulmate isn’t faring much better in the aftermath of last night’s extravaganza.

He waits for the coffee to bubble to life before tentatively heading into the bathroom to piss and wash his face. The shower is definitely still going, but Mark can’t hear any signs of movement.

“Hey.” he calls, splashing water on his face and trying to rattle himself back to reality. “You okay in there?”

Jack just groans weakly, and Mark would laugh if he wasn’t so groggy himself.

“Want me to get you some painkillers?”

“I’d rather you just killed me instead.”

Jack’s voice sounds like he tried to swallow a cheese grater, and Mark winces at the mental image before going on a dedicated hunt for the ibuprofen.

“No can do,” he replies, shaking the pills and setting them on the countertop. “I think I’m gonna have to ask you to stick this one out, mmkay bud?”

“I fuckin’ hate you,” is the only response he gets, and this time Mark can’t help himself. He smiles.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to the man who dragged your sorry ass back home last night and put you to bed. For a little guy you sure weigh a fucking ton.”

“S’all these muscles,” Jack mumbles just before the water shuts off. “I’m way too much man for you.”

Mark nods, handing Jack a towel as he steps out of the tub. “Oh definitely,” he says, indulgent.

Jack gives him a look that could shrink a lesser man’s balls in the time it takes to blink.

“Don’t patronize me,” he huffs, and dries his hair off, wrapping the towel around his waist. “M’fuckin’ wrecked after last night. What were you doing after we split up?”

He squints at Mark like his brain can only tolerate so much light this early in the morning, and he’s waiting on proper neural function to return. Mark purses his lips, arms crossing uncomfortably.

“How much do you remember?” he asks, because Jack hadn’t seemed to realize the true gravity of what was going on last night, and he doubts Jack’s memories are all that lucid this morning either.

Jack shrugs, downing the pills and tightening the towel around his waist. Mark thinks about kissing him—right now—then remembers that morning breath and headaches are definitely a thing, and he’d probably get punched.

“I remember us entering the bar by different doors and not seeing you again after you ordered your first beer,” Jack presses his fingers to his temple, brow furrowing in concentration. “I know I was alone for a little while and mostly sober until I met up with this really nice guy—I think his name was Felix? He was Swedish, I remember that much.”

“How’d you meet him?” Mark knows he’s being transparent with his questioning, but Felix is dangerous and Jack is very much not. Knowing that they’d spent an indeterminate amount of time together last night is making his skin crawl, and the fear he’d felt nagging at him then that Felix had ulterior motives just won’t let him go.

Jack raises an eyebrow at Mark’s coarse tone, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he swings the bathroom door open and shivers at the oncoming rush of cold air.

“He bought me a drink and offered to keep me company,” is the answer Mark gets, and it’s less than satisfying. He bites back a growl of frustration, and watches instead as Jack fumbles with his clothes, not bothering with dressing himself.

“He seemed super friendly and I kinda thought he was hitting on me at first, but then I saw his wedding ring,” Jack tugs on underwear and a long sleeved blue shirt, then sort of sags back onto the bed, unable to muster up the energy required to fully get ready. “I guess that lady you were talking to was his soulmate?”

“Yeah,” Mark uncrosses his arms and makes a beeline for the coffee, for a lack of anything better to do. The thought of Felix alone sets his teeth on edge, but hearing about someone as morally bankrupt as him trying to chat up Jack in any fashion makes his blood boil. “They’re business partners too.”

“You know them?” Jack sounds confused and small behind Mark’s back. “Is that why Felix came up to me, then?”

“I don’t know,” Mark tells him honestly, though his gut tells him he knows exactly what Felix had in mind. “I don’t think his intentions were all good though—somehow he knew who we were and he went after you first.”

Jack makes a startled noise, and a moment later there’s a hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle.

“What’re you on about?” Jack’s face is tired but open, and Mark can see the bags under his eyes, two dark smears marring the tops of his cheekbones. “Are you saying these people are dangerous?”

Mark sets his mug down, full and steaming but untouched, and runs his hands through his hair.

“I told you I was going to the bar to stake out a couple of targets, right?” he begins, unsure of how to broach this subject so early in the morning.

Jack’s hands fidget at his sides, meaning he’s thinking about touching Mark, and he nods slowly.

“Felix and Marzia—his soulmate—were my targets.”

Jack’s eyes get so big they look like they might swallow up his face, and he takes a step back from Mark. Immediately, Mark shortens the distance between them again, unhappy with Jack’s reluctance.

“You mean they’re criminals?” Jack seems to have trouble forming the words, like he can’t make his mouth speak them anymore than he can get his brain to imagine them. “Like, the kind you’re supposed to kill?”

Mark looks at him, shoulders sagging slightly. Jack looks so genuinely troubled that all of his earlier indignance deflates almost instantly, only to be replaced with worry.

“Felix and Marzia are wanted in more than seventeen countries on counts of theft, fraud, assault, and first degree murder, among other petty crimes,” he says gravely, not because he’s particularly horrified at their résumés, but more because Jack definitely is. “I’ve been tracking them on and off for over a year now, but it wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that I received enough information on their most recent whereabouts to make contact.”

“Were you going to kill them last night?” Jack sits back on the bed, curled into himself a little and Mark can’t help but feel bad. Knowing you were being led on by someone who wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet into you is bad enough, but Felix’s generosity with drinks and lack of personal space makes it all the more terrifying.

“It’s not quite that simple,” he assures him, because there’s not much he can offer Jack that isn’t generally unsettling to the average citizen. “We were all in public and I don’t know what kind of influence they have over the local scene. Both Felix and Marzia have a number of contacts and friends in cities like these.”

“Wh-what was he gonna do to me?”

Mark can’t stand the distance anymore and he moves to the bed, sliding next to Jack so that he can wrap his arms around his waist. Jack comes willingly, fitting back between Mark’s arms and side, damp hair leaving droplets of water on Mark’s bare shoulders.

“I think he only wanted to keep tabs on the two of us,” Mark knows Felix is used to being the most powerful man in any room, whether the occupants know it or not. “And I don’t think he liked the fact that I was actively seeking out Marzia for whatever reason—he wanted to use you against me.”

Jack’s quiet, and Mark can hear the wheels in his head turning as the silence ticks on.

“So, he was trying to prove a point?” he murmurs, glancing up at Mark through his wet fringe. “I was a pawn?”

“You were a pawn,” Mark confirms, sighing into Jack’s hair. “I don’t think he meant to hurt you, I think he just wanted to make me angry. He knew I wouldn’t try anything at all while he had you by his side, so he dragged you around and got you drunk to show me who was boss.”

That’s the nicest way he can think to put it, although judging by the way Jack hides his face in Mark’s neck again, it’s not nice enough. Felix had probably had his eyes set on teaching Mark a lesson the moment they’d entered the bar, and once he’d been sure that Mark and Jack were together, he’d treated Jack as though he was a prized toy, dangling him off his arm and holding him in front of Mark’s nose.

Mark had thought that by keeping Jack in the dark, he’d been protecting them both from a blown cover, should Jack have recognized either Felix or Marzia and subsequently had a panic attack over their proximity.

He was wrong.

Felix had used Jack’s confusion to his advantage, and while his message was clearly received, Mark feels less angry on his own behalf, and more vengeful on Jack’s. Mark’s soulmate was the only player on the board who had no idea they were even part of the game, and he’d been intercepted by the self proclaimed king of the chessboard.

“I’m gonna get him back,” he promises Jack, because revenge is something he’s good at. It’s all he can offer. “He’s not gonna get away with using you like that. You’re not a toy.”

Jack shakes a little, clearly overwhelmed by his first encounter with a criminal of any kind (Mark knows Jack doesn’t count him in that mix, even though he definitely should).

“I just—I didn’t expect this to happen so suddenly,” Jack says, voice stripped of color. “It didn’t seem real to me, hearing you talk about all these wanted fuckin’ criminals, running around with money and guns and shit. I didn’t think they’d ever be so…”

‘ _Close to home,_ ’ he doesn’t say, but Mark hears it anyways. Jack lets out a staggered breath.

“I feel stupid,” he says, low and guilty.

“You’re not,” Mark stops him immediately. “I’m the stupid one. I should have told you the truth about what was going on last night instead of keeping you in the dark.”

Jack pulls away ever so slightly. “Why didn’t you?”

“I thought you’d be safer,” Mark answers honestly. That’s what it always comes down to now that they’re together, Jack’s safety. “I thought it’d be easier on both of us if I could get in and get out and you could enjoy yourself without having to worry about me or what I was doing.”

He glances at Jack’s expression, watching surprise melt into disbelief then into disapproval.

“Mark, I’d have worried about you no matter what happened,” he chides, as though Mark’s a very fretful, tenacious child. “Why should I worry about you any less than you worry about me?”

Confusion floods the corners of his mind and weighs down his tongue, strangling Mark’s initial response before it can leap off of his tongue. Jack’s words don’t make sense to him.

“Because…” he trails off, frowning. Jack is a worrier; there’s never been a doubt about that, but to waste time worrying about Mark? Pointless. “I’ve been doing this for ages, Jack. There’s no need to worry about me.”

Jack looks entirely unimpressed. “Are you implying that you think you’re invincible out there on your own? Because I love you dearly but Mark, a superhero you are not.”

Mark’s halfway to shaking his head furiously before he’s stopped abruptly in his tracks. Jack doesn’t seem to realize what he’s just admitted to Mark for the second or third time in less than twelve hours. His limbs feel like they’re filled with static, clogging his joints and pinning his hands to his lap as he breathes and Jack waits.

“You love me?” is what his brain finally comes up with, frank and bold as ever. It’s a blessing and a curse all in one too-neatly wrapped package.

Jack hesitates, eyes falling to where their legs are still pressed close, unable to part even in the midst of a more serious conversation. He doesn’t seem to know what do to with his hands, so Mark takes them into his own, using up the last of his voluntary motor control.

“I love you,” Jack’s voice is thick and his eyes draw Mark in, huge and glassy. “ _So_ much. I think I have since the day we met…it’s just—I don’t think I wanted to admit that any of this was real. It didn’t feel real and I’ve just kind of been floating through each day with you, wondering when I’m going to wake up.”

Mark doesn’t register the moments in between Jack talking and Mark crushing him close—all he can hear is the high ringing in his ears and the sound of Jack saying ‘I love you’ like he actually means it, over and over.

“You don’t have to wake up,” he’s never imagined himself saying something so ridiculous before in his life, but there it is, plain and simple. “This _is_ real.”

Jack kisses him, like he doesn’t want to hear Mark speak anymore and it’s brilliant. They’ve kissed a million times prior to this, lips and tongues familiar with each other and hands having long since become experts along the terrain of their bodies.

It’s the same and it’s not. It’s something completely new and it’s not. Jack loves him, and it’s not a dream.

At some point they end up horizontal, Jack’s long, lithe form stretched out beneath Mark’s and they’re kissing each other breathless and silly, drunk on long-awaited confessions garnished with the taste of one another.

“How much do you remember from last night, after we got back?” Mark thinks only half the words were intelligible, because Jack is stealing all of his oxygen, greedy and starving for it like Mark hasn’t kissed him in ages and he’s going blue in the face.

“I remember being piss-ass drunk,” Jack laughs, preoccupied. He must love the way Mark’s stubble feels beneath his fingertips, because he can’t stop tracing the cut of Mark’s jaw as though he’s sculpting it anew all by himself. “I remember loving you a lot and really, _really_ wanting you to fuck me.”

The shudder is involuntary, because most of the things Jack does to him cause Mark to respond in ways he wasn’t aware he was capable of. It’s like discovering a language that’s been dormant in his bones for years, unused and unfamiliar to his logical mind.

“I remember really, _really_ wanting to say yes,” he replies, because it’s true and because he can admit it now that Jack is sober and he loves Mark and they’re here together in a place where none of this is a dream.

“So why didn’t you?” Jack asks, even though Mark’s sure he knows the answer.

“I wanted you to remember everything,” he murmurs roughly into Jack’s neck. He’s suddenly aware that both of them are still only half clothed, and he rolls his hips into Jack’s, unable to stop himself.

Jack pants softly, head tipping to the side. “I love you,” he says again, just in case either of them thought that the ringing in their ears was playing tricks on them before. “I want you to love me back, c’mon Mark, _please_.”

“Fuck,” Mark’s head is spinning and their boxers are still on. He doesn’t want their first time to be quick and dirty, but if he says yes to this, there isn’t a single thing about this that’s going to be slow. “Once we start I’m not gonna be able to stop, Jack.”

The warning only serves to make Jack arch up into where Mark’s still rocking against him, a slow grind of hips and cock bound beneath fabric, and it’s killing Mark already, how much he needs to be closer.

“Who said anything about stopping?” Jack’s cheeks are dusted slightly pink now, and his hands scrabble for purchase on Mark’s back. “If I had it my way we’d both have been naked ten minutes ago.”

Mark’s never been one to wait longer than he needs to, and at Jack’s words he immediately starts working at getting his own boxers off, groaning as his half-hard cock springs free, glistening slightly at the tip.

“Am I gonna get to suck you sometime soon?” Jack asks him, like he’s been thinking about it for a while and just now managed to work up the courage to say something. “I’ve been thinking about it— _fuck_ , all the fucking time. Shit, Mark.”

“Hmmm,” Mark’s fingers slide up to Jack’s waistband, grateful that the other man was too lazy to get fully dressed earlier. “Maybe later, if you’re good you can suck me off, mmkay?”

Jack’s tangles his fingers with Mark’s, trying to get him to free his lower half of any more fabric and whines as Mark teases him, dragging his waistband slowly down his hips.

“Mark,” he hisses, slurring the vowel and drawing out the heavy ‘R’ sound, the vibration going straight to Mark’s cock, which is rapidly hardening between his legs. “Quit fuckin’ teasing already. S’not fair what you’re doin’ to me.”

“Patience,” Mark admonishes lowly, like he’s got any of that to spare himself, but he obliges, letting Jack kick away his underwear so that Mark can touch his thighs and hips unobstructed.

He smoothes his palms up Jack’s inner thighs, and listens to him whine his approval in Mark’s ears as Jack’s hands reach to pull off his shirt unsteadily.

“No, keep it on,” Mark says seriously, tugging at the fabric. “Y’look so pretty like this. I wanna fuck you with your clothes still on.”

Jack whines, teeth biting into the soft flesh of his bottom lip and he looks so goddamn gorgeous, all pink in the face and all Mark’s, every bit of him Mark’s. The blush is spreading down his neck, dipping beneath the collar of his shirt and Mark wants to kiss every inch of that warm skin, stained with want and arousal just for him, only him.

“Please fuck me, Mark, oh god, please fuck me,” Jack’s already a mess, legs spread and cock dripping, so pretty and thick against his abdomen. Mark wraps a hand around it, stroking Jack slow and firm just to see the way his mouth tips open and his breaths get higher, crashing over one another until Jack’s whining consistently.

“You want it?” Mark wants it, and he knows Jack wants it too, but he has to hear it. The greedy, possessive part of him that had bristled against seeing Felix touch Jack last night wants more than what he’s getting now. He wants to hear Jack beg for what he wants, to cry and writhe for Mark’s cock in him until he’s a blubbering mess and words are just sounds spilling from his mouth without any proper thought.

“Yes, yes please Mark!” Jack’s skin is faintly sticky with sweat already, pressed close to Mark’s chest and thighs, and he’s so desperate, so perfect for Mark like this. “I want it so bad—want your cock in me and your hands on me. Please, I’ve waited so long—I can’t wait anymore!”

“Good boy,” Mark’s heard enough, enough for now until whatever insatiable beast that’s living inside his head demands more from Jack, from them both. “You’ll get what you want.”

He flips them, holding tight to Jack’s waist and situating him on top of Mark’s hips with ease, until Jack’s the one on top, looking down at Mark with half lidded eyes and lips bitten cherry red.

“You’re gonna ride me,” Mark tells him, thumbs pressing into the indentations of his hipbones, brooking no room for argument. “You’re gonna fuck yourself down on my cock and you’re gonna let me see it all, everything that belongs to me.”

Jack nods his head furiously, and Mark reaches for the lube, handing it to Jack with a smirk on his face as Jack blushes even harder.

“Wh-What do you…” Jack trails off and his eyes widen a little as he takes the tube, Mark’s hands moving back to rub at his hips comfortingly.

“I wanna see you spread yourself open on your own fingers,” Mark hums lowly, delighting in the way Jack begins to shiver. “And when you’re done you’re gonna let me check, or else I don’t fuck you. Clear?”

Jack fumbles with the cap on the lube his hands are shaking so badly in his haste to slick his fingers up. He leans forward, one hand bracing itself on the mattress next to Mark as he reaches behind himself and slides one finger in, breaths stuttering a little.

Mark watches intently, smoothing his hands down Jack’s sides and chest, silently encouraging him as he watches the sensations of being stretched play themselves out on Jack’s face.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, as Jack slips a second finger in within a minute of the first. Mark knows this isn’t the first time Jack’s fingered himself to thoughts of Mark—he’s not at all quiet in the shower when he’s getting off, and he’s always been more than a little fixated with the way Mark’s hands grip his ass when they’re making out.

Jack’s arms quiver a little, and his legs shift until he finds a more comfortable position, the collar of his shirt sliding until it’s hanging loosely off of his shoulder. Mark’s mouth waters with the way he wants to put his mouth on the bared, flushed skin. Instead he focuses on the way Jack’s making soft little grunts as he works both fingers into himself, searching for his prostate as he scissors his fingers inside his body.

“You’re doing so good,” Mark praises, because Jack is everything Mark never even knew he could have, and he deserves to know how good he looks like this, splayed out over Mark with his fingers up his ass, doing exactly as Mark asked of him.

Jack keens lightly as he adds a third finger, whether from the burning stretch or from Mark’s praise, he doesn’t know, but Mark drinks in the sound and lets it wash over him, sweet and simple.

“I think,” Jack whimpers only minutes later, after he’s sobbed his way through pressing himself open and sharp jabs at his own prostate. “I think I’m ready, Mark. I need you.”

His legs are shaking with the effort it takes to maintain his position and there’s a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He’s a beautiful wreck of a man and Mark loves him so much, leaning up to kiss him soundly as Jack’s fingers draw free of himself with a wet pop.

“I know, baby,” Mark palms one asscheek and spreads Jack open, letting Jack feel every ounce of his love and gratitude through their kisses, sliding first one, two, then three fingers into him and curling them against his prostate.

Jack breaks away to let out a moan, spit slicked mouth hanging open in want and Mark’s satisfied with the response that he gets.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, and then he’s pulling Jack back into a sitting position, knees bent to support Jack’s back as he lets the smaller man find his balance again.

Mark fists his cock, flushed dark red and dripping against his naked skin ever since it’d become clear that he was going to get to have Jack this morning, in every way he’s ever wanted since they met. He smears a handful of lube all along the shaft, stopping himself from going any further for fear that he might not be able to hold off.

“Let-let me help,” Jack begs, bracing himself against the planes of Mark’s chest, and Mark guides him gently, until he can feel the tip of his dick brushing against Jack’s hole. “Please, I can’t wait anymore Mark, please just…”

His words dissolve into a long, slow groan as Mark slides in for the first time, working his hips forward with short thrusts in an attempt to be as gentle as possible, but Jack isn’t having it.

With a frustrated grunt, Jack shifts until Mark’s bottomed out inside of him, filling him so suddenly that Jack arches into the sensation, his head thrown back.

“Fuck,” Mark growls out loud, like his vocabulary is steadily shrinking down to curses and gruff noises the closer he and Jack get. “ _Fuck_ , Jack.”

Jack’s shirt is too big on him, the sleeves falling down his wrists and pooling around his hands as he digs his fingers into Mark’s flesh, looking vulnerable and ravenous all at once. He arches up, sliding upwards on Mark’s cock and then back down, a whimpering rattling mess that Mark absolutely cannot keep himself from touching.

“That’s good, just like that,” Mark tells him, hands gripping either side of his waist and helping him to lift himself again, until he’s slowly building a rhythm of fucking himself on Mark’s cock. “God, you feel so good Jack. So fucking good on my cock.”

“Mark,” Jack’s struggling to speak through his heavy breathing, and Mark watches as his gaze trains itself between his own legs, watching himself as he chases that perfect cadence of movement. Jack’s focused but desperate and Mark takes the opportunity to run a finger along the edge of his cock, all while Jack’s still trying to find his rhythm.

“Oh _god_ ,” Jack’s voice breaks and precome oozes from the tip of his dick, forming wet strings that stick to the fabric of his shirt, dark stains against the blue.

“Look at you,” Mark breathes, fingers tracing up and down Jack’s cock teasingly, just enough to drive him crazy. “Already so fucked out and gorgeous, trying to bounce on my cock because you love it so much, don’t you?”

“Love _you_ so much.”

Jack’s voice is surprisingly adamant for how badly Mark’s light touches are seeming to affect him, and Mark’s chest blooms and swells inside with how confident Jack’s words are on his lips. He’s looking down at Mark, eyes unfocused and watery, but there’s no hesitation in him at all, and Mark knows he means every word.

Jack is his soulmate in every sense of the word, made for Mark and only Mark, so that one day they could find themselves just like this, connected in body and mind and Mark is so, so fucking glad that he’d fucked that mission up almost two months ago. He can’t imagine living without Jack by his side, in his bed and in his arms every night and every morning, present and warm and there because he wants to be, because he loves Mark.

They’ve known each other for so little time, but time doesn’t feel like an object, like a thing that exists for them and Mark wonders if that’s the real definition of a soulmate. He wonders if the thing that’s between them is something that defies time, something that existed before they were born and might continue once they’re gone.

“Love you more,” Mark’s hips begin to meet Jack’s in harmony, thrusting and sliding inside of Jack’s body as Jack begins to bounce on his lap, exactly as Mark had predicted. They work together, learning each other’s patterns of movement as they press up against one another, Mark seated deep inside Jack as he finally rubs up against his prostate once more and Jack wails aloud.

“Yes, there!” he keens, the high pitched whines starting all over again as Jack sobs into his fist, the cloth of his shirt muffling the sounds as Mark’s cock punches every little noise out of his mouth, sharp and wild.

Mark wraps his fist around Jack’s cock again, because he wants to watch Jack come apart at the seams, crying and shaking and absolutely breaking open with Mark inside him, fucking him like they’ve been waiting years instead of months to do this.

“Fuck, please, more Mark!” Jack is so vocal and every word, every noise is an affirmation for Mark, proof that he’s doing this right and that Jack needs him more than he needs anyone or anything else at this moment in time. It’s the most Mark’s ever felt wanted by anyone, and he’s addicted to it, to Jack looking at him like he’s everything a soulmate is supposed to be: a living, breathing jigsaw piece to Jack’s entire puzzle.

“I’ve got you,” Mark assures him, focusing in on Jack, trying to make him come on Mark’s hands and cock and voice, deep and reassuring. “I’ve got you, love, always got you. You can come whenever, I wanna see you do it—wanna see you fall apart for me for the first time, Jack, come on.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jack’s biting down on the thin cloth of his shirt, trying to muffle his gasps and wails like he’s embarrassed, and Mark can see the way the blush from before has spread across his whole torso. His nipples are hard and dark against the pale pink of his skin, and Mark’s reminded of how little he got to kiss Jack before they started doing this.

It feels wrong, not having had his mouth on Jack properly, and Mark groans, biting his lower lip in conviction before he pushes up with all his might, ensuring that Jack’s legs are situated around his waist before he guides Jack backwards onto the mattress.

“What?” Jack gasps, as Mark leans over him, mouth attaching itself to Jack’s neck so he can taste the way the sweat is pooling itself in the dip of Jack’s collarbone. “Mark, I thought—.”

“Shh,” Mark whispers, moving to kiss him for real, swallowing Jack’s questions with his lips and tongue. “You’re gonna come while I’m kissing you, because I love you and you’re mine, Jack. Mine.”

“Yours,” Jack promises again, as if he hadn’t agreed so eagerly just minutes ago. He nips at Mark’s jawline, hungry and persistent. Claiming. “Mine. All mine.”

“Yours.” Mark speeds up the movement of his hips, driving into Jack and rocking the mattress so the headboard begins to slam against the wall, probably waking their neighbors and Mark couldn’t give half a damn who hears them.

They kiss hungrily, teeth clacking once and biting down on swollen flesh until there’s a sting of copper from Jack’s mouth and Mark soothes away the bite instantly, apologizing with soft pecks and a warm tongue. Jack’s hips are back to meeting his in tandem, working their way towards orgasm and Mark knows he’s not going to last much longer, but he has to get Jack there first.

He sucks a bruise into the tendon alongside the curve of Jack’s neck, admiring the way the skin purples and blushes nicely under the onslaught of his mouth, and Jack’s fingernails leave shallow trails on Mark’s back. They’re tattooing each other, inside and out, finite marks on skin and permanent lashes on their souls until they’re completely and wholly each other’s.

Jack comes with a surprised gasp, a wail tearing itself from his throat and ringing in Mark’s ears until he can’t tell the difference between the sounds of their pleasure and the force of their heavy breaths mingling in each other’s mouths.

Mark doesn’t stop the noises, letting Jack writhe his way through his orgasm and clench around Mark’s cock, driving him even closer to the edge as he pistons his hips forward relentlessly, chasing down the final drop into oblivion.

He finds it as Jack’s starting to go limp beneath him, the sticky mess of his come smearing between their bodies as Mark shakes through his own climax, hands gripping Jack’s bones and flesh so tightly he knows there’ll be handprint shaped bruises on the skin for days to come.

Jack holds on to him as he rides it out, arms curled loosely around his back as Mark tries to blink his way back into full consciousness, the haze of heat and sweat and sex filling his mind and jamming his senses until he can’t manage anything but deep, gasping breaths.

“Mark,” Jack whispers, not demanding, just searching. “Baby, you okay? It’s okay—fuck, stay with me okay?”

Mark still hasn’t caught his breath, but he presses his lips to the hollow of Jack’s throat, resting there and panting into the sweat slicked skin.

“I love you so goddamned much,” he grates out between harsh gasps of air, and Jack soothes him with a hand in his hair, stroking softly.

“Baby, you’re shaking,” he says, and Mark knows distantly that he’s right, but all he can think of at the moment is how Jack’s still wearing that fucking long sleeved shirt, and how fucking hot he must be in it right now.

“I made you keep that shirt on,” he mutters, fingers flexing as he leans up on unsteady elbows to look Jack in the eyes. “You must be boiling, holy shit.”

Jack laughs, loud and clear and exhausted, and Mark’s cheeks glow.

“You’re so utterly ridiculous,” Jack sounds happy, unimaginably so, and Mark feels satisfied at the sound. He’s done something right, and for Jack of all people—the only one who really matters.

Mark lets him laugh his way through their attempts to tug the sticky fabric off of Jack’s torso, and Jack breathes a sigh of relief once his heated skin meets the cool air.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he admits freely, flopping back onto the bed with a little thump. Then he frowns. “I’m all sweaty and nasty again.”

Mark just smiles serenely, in a way he’s absolutely sure is one hundred percent nerve wracking to Jack, and hums into Jack’s shoulder.

“You wanna shower with me this time?”

Jack pokes him in the cheek, still grinning so widely his eyes are crinkling at the edges, and Mark’s chest feels a little like it’s been turned inside out.

“Only if you do all the hard work,” Jack insists, smacking a kiss onto his forehead. “It’s barely nine thirty and I’m ready to go back to sleep again.”

Mark knows they have things to do today, not limited to putting Jack’s computer skills to use and finding out more about what exactly Felix and Marzia are here to do, as well as figuring out how the in the fuck they’d known who Mark and Jack were, but he thinks it can wait.

He’s going to take everything he can get from these early morning moments, and it might be more than he’s deserving of, but Jack is his and he’s leaving bruises on Mark’s skin and his soul. It all hurts so beautifully, but Mark loves every second of what he’s been given and he’s going to keep it close to him with greedy hands.

Jack’s fingers are warm in his and his laugh is real and sharp against Mark’s neck as they stumble off of the bed and towards the promise of another hot shower. The water pressure prickles softly against their marred skin, dull and lackluster compared to the way their fingerprints left heavy stains on hips and thighs just minutes earlier, but the feeling of being clean again washes away any remaining doubt.

Working can wait. For now, Mark has more important things to attend to.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't feel like this is the most solid installment so far, but it's definitely the longest. Please tell me what you thought and if there's anything you're interested in seeing in later installments (Felix and Marzia will definitely return), because I'm always open to ideas! Much love. <3
> 
> (Now off to write a Googleplier/Jack fic lololol)


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